


Keiner Weiss Wohin

by Lani



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: An Excessive Use of Commas, F/F, F/M, Future AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lani/pseuds/Lani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years since their defeat. Five years since they lost everything. Five years since they lost each other. You cannot bring the dead back to life. But you can avenge them.<br/>They don't call him the Grim Reminder for nothing.</p><p>--Bertholdt and Ymir find themselves within the walls once more, five years after their hurried departure. Deep within the juggernaut awaits a sleeping queen. There is no innocence here and the dead can't rest.<br/>Spoilers up to chapter 53!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Death Valley

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that the characters changed and therefore might appear OOC to you. I'm trying to stay true to their core personalities, though. Enjoy!

The worst, she thought, was that he never raised his voice. He had the lungs for it, no doubt. And a voice so deep it seemed to echo in itself. His words could either cover you like a blanket of warmth, or vibrate in your very core, shaking your bones and sending your heart a-tremble. But he was never loud. He never wasted it. She recalled it had likely always been that way. He had never said more than he needed to. Even in the midst of battle, with fury and bloody chaos all around him, he shouted no nonsense and didn't shriek until they made him. Well, there had been that one time... She didn't bother remembering the event in detail.

Ymir drew her knees up to her body and folded her arms on top of them to rest them. She was still short of breath and the wounds on her body took what energy they needed to heal. The man towering, truly towering, above her was staring at her with dark eyes. He seemed very far away but his gaze was so direct, so mercilessly expectant, that she couldn't meet it for long. That had never been the case before. But 'before' was so long ago... And they were different people now. He most of all. She would bet a fortune that if he met the boy he used to be he would scarcely recognize himself. 

As she listened to his soliloquies, monotone and soft in her ears, she reckoned that she had liked the boy much better. The boy had been taciturn but equipped with a resolve that could have shattered stone, and had. The boy had also been considerate and oddly sweet, at time. Then the boy had become a man.

The man was worse... She had heard the people talk. They said nobody ever saw him eat. But eat he must. They murmured that he was feasting in secret, while everyone else was starving. She knew their fears. They believed he was gorging himself on human flesh. An idiotic notion even if it was understandable. They feared him for the beast he could summon. They feared him for the beast he was. Silent, but violent in his rage. He bore none of the villagers any love, and they didn't like him better. 

The Colossus, she had heard them mutter when they walked past. The Red Titan. Devil. Beast. Monster. Bastard. Plague.

The Grim Reminder.

"Bertholdt." 

A pair of dull green eyes returned to her face, instantly searching for her own. It had been a long time since he had last shied away from eye contact. Ymir straightened up where she sat. "We should leave. They wanted to slay us in our sleep since the day we arrived. It's getting worse."

"That's why only one of us sleeps at a time." He reminded her calmly. That was true enough. Ymir glanced down at her healing body. It hadn’t been the first time a group of citizens had tried to get past her. It hadn't been the first time she had killed.

The warrior had made no secret of his arrival and his intentions when they had finally reached Wall Maria’s western bait district. A bright light behind the Wall, an explosion of steam, and a rising shadow. Ymir was very sure that the people of Shiganshina had seen the same sight all those years ago. It had been a magnificent display of raw power. The heat, the roars, the sheer size of the  _thing_  Bertholdt called his titan. He was even taller than the titans within the walls. Undoubtedly the villagers had thought that Death himself had come to reap them on that day. But he hadn't. Instead he had revealed his human form and taken their weapons and lands. Those that tried to oppose him he had cut down where they stood. There had been no reasoning with him. His blades had sliced through men and women alike. Even she hadn’t been able to reach him in his cold wrath. Blood had soaked through his boots before nightfall. On that day Ymir had watched a warrior conquer. 

It hadn't been an extraordinary victory, given their location. The district was half-starved and dying, cut off from all civilization. It was the abandoned western sister of Shiganshina where everything had begun. Only because a plague had sent half its population to their graves and because a few brave morons had left for Wall Maria never to return was the district even able to sustain its citizens at all. The dead were still being carted to the fields to burn so no one could become a cannibal in their hunger.

“What do you even want here?” Ymir scoffed. “These people are useless and they won’t help you any further than you force them. They hate you.” In fact, she was very sure that their feelings for the tall shifter were much stronger than hatred but there had yet to be a word invented for that. In any case, it didn’t seem to bother Bertholdt. He almost looked amused. Or he would have if his mouth ever smiled. It never did.

“I hope so.” He replied quietly and squatted down in front of her. “But unless you can show me a safe way to Wall Rose I suggest you keep your complaints to yourself.” Bertholdt’s tone was as polite and gentle as ever but there was a hardness in his gaze that made the threat in his words all the more apparent. It was so odd to be threatened by this guy. Especially since he didn’t even actively spoke the words. Ymir’s gaze became a glare. “Who’s complaining? Just admit that you rushed headfirst into this bullshit offensive without a real plan at hand.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Something that proved there was still a feeling creature behind the mask of stone. “I have a plan.”

“Let me guess. ‘Kill them all’?” She was mocking him now, something she shouldn’t be doing, but the promise of a response was too tempting not to try. “You remind me more of Eren with every damn day.”

“I’m nothing like him.”

“You’re everything like him. You’re just better at hiding it. But once someone gives you the right push… Wasn’t it you who vowed genocide?” She poked the bear some more now that he was growling. Metaphorically, of course. Bertholdt was as quiet as a mouse.

“I was just a child back then.” He reminded her. “And I was grieving.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Yes.” He agreed as he rose back to his full height, denying her the sweet satisfaction of an honest reaction. “Here we are.”

 

Three sticks in the ground. That was all that remained of the fallen.

Bertholdt had sent Ymir to guard their sleeping place, an old farm far away from the villages the district had to show for.  Now he was sitting behind the kitchen on a porch and cleaning his maneuver gear. When he had parted with the one that had served him for five years he had almost felt a little nostalgic about it. But in the end he had taken it apart and thrown it into the river, along with all other military equipment they had no use for. The garrison’s quarters had been deserted when they arrived. He was not surprised. No doubt the ever valiant soldiers had accompanied the civilians that had meant to reach Wall Rose and call for help. But Wall Maria was infested with titans and he was very sure that not a single one of them was still alive. And yet more and more people had left, fleeing from starvation and disease.

Bertholdt studied the sticks in the ground. Ymir had complained about this habit of his but he would not let her take this from him. There were certain things they didn’t speak of. The agreement had been silent and consensual. He didn’t speak of Christa –Historia, and she didn’t speak about his comrades. She still couldn’t even mention Berik’s name. He was glad of it. It felt good to know that with all the ghosts that were haunting them, they shared one.

He didn’t know how Ymir coped with it but he didn’t particularly care either. He had his own demons to fight.

Wherever he went the three sticks in the ground would follow. The dead couldn’t walk, you had to carry them with you. Every night he planted them in the mud; a wandering grave and a reminder for himself. At first he had worried about not letting them rest but then he figured that it didn’t matter to them. Their souls were not bound to his three sticks. They had gone wherever the dead went.

“One day,” He promised them. “I will take you home and give you proper graves and then there’ll be peace.”

Truth was that Bertholdt hadn’t seen his home in more than ten years. Truth was that he wasn’t planning on returning to it anymore. Home was nothing if the people were gone. And he was a corpse on legs as it was. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to lie to people who could no longer hear him. Each time he spoke to them it left him a bit emptier, a bit colder. He felt very cold now. Despite the heat coursing through his body to keep it moving he had no warmth to hold on to. There were no gentle thoughts left in his mind, they had cut them out of him with their blades. The rest he had removed from himself, like he was shedding skin. He had flayed it off his body, everything. There was nothing left he held dear. He found it to be quite a liberating feeling. He was empty and cold and it was for the best.

* * *

 

He grabbed her waist and dug his fingernails into her skin. She was silent. His hips thrust up so that he could bury himself deeper in her heat. She was silent. He pressed his body against hers and raked his fingers like talons over her back. She was silent.

She was always silent when they fucked. And he made very sure to call it a fuck. He didn’t know how to make love and he didn’t want to know. He wanted to _fuck_ her. Because she was warm and he was cold. And because she never uttered a single sound. He didn’t know if she got some pleasure out of their fornications or if she just suffered his cock in her out of the goodness of her heart. He knew she didn’t really want him, though. That was fine with him. Ghosts and demons couldn’t be expelled by sweat and body heat.  But she was silent and he appreciated it. Loud noises, screams of any kind, even the wailing of a babe in arms, took him back to places he never wanted to think of again. Her heat helped him. It unraveled the tangled mess of thoughts in his brain and opened his nerves like live wires, flooding his mind with sensations that seemed so much more important at that time. No one else could have been like this for him. No one else would let him this close.

So it had to be Ymir. She understood that. Maybe she wanted to forget, too.

The first time he had come to her she had accepted him without so much as a frown. She was using him as much as he was using her, he was certain. There were no feelings between them that went beyond a dubious camaraderie.

The woman sat in his lap, strong legs wrapped around his middle, and held on to his shoulders as she stared at the door behind him. Her hips rocked at a steadily growing pace, urging him on. Bertholdt held her tightly and moved with her, heat and pressure filling his emptiness for a few moments. He sank his teeth into her shoulder to keep himself quiet. His eyes rested on the second door in the room. They never faced the same direction when they distracted themselves like this. The enemies were everywhere and a single mistake could cost them their lives. He didn’t care much for his own, but he cared for his revenge. He needed it more than rest or peace. He had nothing left but her heat and his hatred.

Maybe he was a bit like that rogue monster after all.

When he came a shudder went through his body and a taste of iron coated his tongue. Ymir had tensed in his arms and was hissing a curse. She pushed against his chest to get away from him and he let her retreat. When he looked up, his body cooling down again, he saw the bite mark on her shoulder. Bertholdt didn’t have to reach up to his bloodied lips to understand what had happened. “Sorry.” He murmured and wiped over his mouth to get rid of the red trace of her on him.

The female shifter gave him a glare and bent down to pick up her pants. The small wound next to her neck was steaming by now and quickly closed again. “Fucking control yourself.” She chastised him as she got dressed. Bertholdt pulled his pants up as well and got himself in order again.

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No kidding? You know, a lady would take offense at that.”

“Good thing you’re not a lady.”

That managed to bring that smug smile she loved so well back to her lips. Bertholdt sat up a little on the bed.  “I’m thinking.” He began.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m thinking,” He insisted, his voice indicating that the time for jokes had passed. “You were right with what you said earlier today. We need to leave this place. Staying here is pointless. The plague will run its course soon and leave more dead to burn. The rest of them will starve to death.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll show them any mercy and make their end swift and clean.”

“I won’t have it said of me that I am merciful.” Bertholdt got up and stretched. “Sleep now. I will keep watch.”

Her amber eyes followed him as he stalked off, no doubt, but he didn’t look back at her. She would sleep or she wouldn’t. It was all the same for him.

The warrior grabbed his gear out of the crate where they stored their weapons and equipment, the heavy key for it hanging on a string around his neck, as soon as he left the farm house. As he put on the pedestrian harness he overlooked the small villages and the few lights they had still burning. There had been more lights before they had attacked, Bertholdt recalled dimly, but not many. It was odd to think that that had been mere five days ago. He had hoped to replenish their water and gas supplies here. That had proven a more difficult task than he had thought. With hindsight, it might have been simpler to just steal two uniforms from the corpses that still covered the battlefields, and play soldiers again. Ymir had suggested that. But Bertholdt would have none of it. Never again would he don a costume and hide himself behind a mask. He knew the cost of it. He had paid so dearly for the easy way, for the calm way. And Reiner… No one had paid the price as Reiner had.

The familiar clinking and clicking as he fastened his belts kept his hands from shaking as they worked. No, he had refused to play pretend. Instead he had shown them the ugly truth. The truth was a skinless giant, come to devour all of mankind.  He remembered that on the day he had reappeared at the Wall it must have been like a repetition of what had happened ten years ago. But of course the humans couldn’t know that. And it had been exactly the same, either.

Bertholdt hadn’t kicked a hole into their precious walls. Instead he had opened his gigantic maw and roared that the gates trembled. Screams and steam had polluted the air on that day and for once Bertholdt relished it. For once he had looked down at mankind and seen nothing that was worth saving. 

It was hard to believe that the first time he had looked upon humanity he had been a mere child; just a stupid boy that knew nothing of the world. And he hadn’t been alone back then. One could argue that Ymir was with him now but that couldn’t be compared.

Oh, if Reiner could just see him now, he thought as he let his maneuver gear transport him up on the ramshackle roof. There he stood next to the broken chimney, overcome with moss and lichen, and watched the dark lands around. His right hand tightened and relaxed around the handle of his sword, eager for a foolish farmer to come and reclaim his lands from the warrior. Let them come one by one or all together, he thought. _I will devour you all._

If Reiner could see him now…

He would be so disappointed.

 


	2. Dig Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares have a way of revealing more of yourself than you can stomach and a slight resemblance can send you stumbling, just for a second.

Rain was falling. In this time that was nothing out of the ordinary. Fat drops of water rolled down the window panes, gathering on the sill. Steady streams, miniature replicas of the great river that ate its way through mud and stone, wound their way down the dirt road. Both, road and river, led by his house and oftentimes he had feared that the floods would rise to swallow them. During storms, thunder rolling above and lightning striking all around, his fear was greatest. Sometimes the rain would not stop for days and weeks. The adults never seemed worried but he was. He would seek refuge under beds and tables, hiding himself beneath pillows and blankets.   
As scared as he was, no one seemed to respect his fright. When he hid rough hands would grab him and drag him out. When he cried he would be chided. A warrior, they said, must conquer his fear before he can conquer anything else. He didn’t want to be a warrior.  
Rain was falling. A young boy barely the age of ten sat by the window and watched the raindrops race down the glass, betting with himself on which drop would win. He lost his bet and turned away from the outside world in order to pull his blanket tighter around his body. In the corners of his visions the shadows bred shadows, blurring and flickering. At the time it seemed perfectly normal. His world was dark but soon the sky would clear and sunlight would tear through the grey clouds. It had always been that way. He just had to endure.  
A knock at the door tore him from his sullen thoughts. He didn’t recall leaving his bed but time must have passed. When he reached out to open the door the rain outside had waned from heavy pouring to a drizzle. Now he saw that the door had already swung in to reveal his visitor. The grey outside blur framed the body of a green long coat, the hood pulled deep into the face of the stranger. The part of it that he could see was occupied by a big grin, “Hey, Bertholdt!”  
Reiner was covered in mud, splatters of it decorating his new coat. His mother had made it for him, he had said. It was a really great coat, Bertholdt agreed. His own, a pale blue relict from his older brother’s childhood, was nowhere as pretty and didn’t have any of those fancy buttons. And yet he felt that he would get in more trouble than his friend when the adults found out about their dirty clothes. Their wooden sticks, a substitute for blades, crashed together and Reiner let out an encouraging battle cry. The children ran and jumped through the puddles, playing at being glorious fighters. Their wooden swords clattered and creaked with each time they parried. Reiner was slowly closing in on him, hooting and yelling. His stick came at Bertholdt from the side, aiming for his shoulder. To his great fortune he realized that soon enough and ducked. His leg slid through the mud and with one swift kick Reiner lost his footing and his back hit the ground with a wed thud. Bertholdt grinned triumphantly and struck his foe down.   
Shattered wood turned into flashing steel and the mud on his face was red. The rain was pouring. He couldn’t see anything but he saw the red. The world around him was nothing, nonexistent, just a dark blur. The thick crimson trail seemed to run like a river towards him, leading him to the one splash of color in this grey ugly world. Rain water must have run into his eyes with how they were stinging. It tasted salty on his lips. He didn’t like this game anymore. There was too much red, even more so because his shirt was white. White and red. A gaping hole opened within Bertholdt’s chest, sucking in everything that once had been his life. The lightest touch could have sent him crumbling, shattering. He didn’t know what was keeping him from falling apart now. He wanted to fall apart. He wanted to scream until his lungs tore up, he wanted to cry until his eyes went blind, he wanted, he wanted… The red sword in his hand fell to the ground. The sound filled the air all around them, not hindered by the steady rain. It was a loud sound, and the world was quiet here. It was so loud it would have roused the dead from their sleep. Reiner had always been a heavy sleeper. It was alright, he was tired and needed rest. His howls of agony and grief were silent to his ears. Steps were approaching them but he didn’t hear that either.  
 _“Bertholdt, what have you done?”_

Bertholdt’s eyes opened with a start, hand flying to the handle of his blade, ready to cut throats. His ears were filled with the thunderous pounding of his heart but he didn’t dare breathe. The grip on his sword tightened as his gaze jumped around, hastily scanning the wide lands below him. He had fallen asleep, he understood belatedly. A curse on his mind rather than his lips he got up from his somewhat dry spot by the broken chimney. It had begun to rain lightly. His back hurt and the muscles in his calves ached with tension. He wasn’t sure for how long exactly he had been out but all was calm, in the fields around him and in the house under his feet. He allowed himself to relax gradually.   
The night was slowly fading, grey climbing up behind the mountains to conquer the black sky and turn it blue. Ymir was most likely still asleep, trusting Bertholdt to keep watch. Well, he shouldn’t mention his nap to her. But what had woken him? The warrior moved into a crouch, his whole weight balancing on the balls of his feet. As quietly as he could manage he drew his blades, listening to the whisper of sharp steel brushing against its sheath.   
There it was again. Wrapped in the sounds of forest and valley, easily dismissed, he heard the soft whimper of a woman followed by the cracking of a twig. Bertholdt’s expression darkened to an angry scowl as he crept to the edge of the leaking roof. A shingle under his boot gave way and fell into the darkness below with an unnaturally loud crash. The ceramic must have shattered, he concluded, and had also revealed his presence to whoever was trespassing here. The quiet crying had stopped altogether. It didn’t matter anymore. Once Bertholdt had reached the rusty gutter he was close enough to catch a glimpse of the intruder.   
Hiding in the shadow of a few crates, a blond woman was pressing a flat hand over her own mouth and shook quite visibly. She was trying to suffocate her sobs, he assumed. It was too late for such efforts now but he acknowledged the attempt. He swung down from the roof and landed with a dull thud on the muddy ground. The woman flinched and muffled a scream with her hand. She definitely knew who was coming for her, or rather what. Bertholdt lowered his guard as he approached her, straightening up to his full height. He had grown to meet two meters over the last five years and it made his looming shadow all the more threatening. Good. He wanted her to be fully aware of the mistake she had made by coming here.   
Upon registering the nearing steps she turned with wide eyes that searched franticly for her impending doom. It made him wonder if there would be some fight in her. But when she looked up and saw the titan shifter she dissolved into tears. She didn’t even try to run or fight, she just broke down and cried her eyes out, helpless in the grip of fear. Once, the sight of her so utterly terrified of him would have been a jab to his heart and haunted him for weeks to come. When he searched for a reaction now all he found was a gaping emptiness. He felt as though he ought to say something to her; something reassuring and comforting, maybe something along the lines of ‘It won’t hurt’ or ‘I’m sorry’. However, he made it a point not to lie. It _would_ hurt and he _wasn’t_ sorry. It was her own fault for being here. Therefore, with the grave silence befitting an executioner, he raised his sword and poised it to strike. –But why was she here? He hesitated at the unbidden thought. It didn’t matter why she was here, he growled at himself. Except that it did. She wasn’t trying to kill him; she wasn’t even prepared for a confrontation. If they had wanted to steal their weapons or gear they would have sent someone who wouldn’t start crying at the mere notion of being in the presence of monsters. She knew what would happen to her here. She was expecting it to happen. She was crying because she knew she would die. Who would come here just to be killed?   
“ _Bait_ ,” He spat the word out as though it was acid in his mouth as the realization dawned on him. The woman looked about as surprised as he felt. Her eyes flickered to a spot behind him, a sudden breeze hit the back of his neck. Bertholdt reacted. He whirled around and jerked up his arm to block any blow to him with his sword. A wooden club sank into the sharp edge of his blade. Behind the crossed weapons a hateful grimace was glaring up at him, the anger and despair hardly hidden by a graying beard. Bertholdt kneed the man in the stomach and sent him staggering to the ground. Before he could kill him three other villagers came to their unfortunate brother-in-arms’ aid. Muckrakes, meat cleavers and shovels formed a hostile forest before him, shouts rising above the crowd. Bertholdt jumped to bring distance between himself and the unforgiving end of a gardening tool. He cursed himself for his failure thrice to hell. How could he not have heard them? Why had he fallen asleep? He was such an idiot!   
“Ymir!” He bellowed hoarsely as he took a swing at the attackers to force them back. “Ymir, for fuck’s sake! Help!” A panicking tone was slipping into his voice as the crowd closed in on him. He couldn’t fight off all of them. There were at least ten men, knives and prongs raining down on him from all directions. He needed help and if it was solely because he refused to be defeated by a handful of peasants.   
Bertholdt blocked the jab of a pitchfork by cutting off its head. The wood grazed his arm but he could hardly care for that because just then something sharp pierced his thigh and made him cry out. The instinct to defend and preserve his life flashed through his body like a wave of heat, begging to be released. He kicked at the arm that had sunken a blade into his flesh and fought down the urge to shift. Both hardly took any effort. He heard the satisfying sound of a breaking bone and ignored the nagging in the back of his mind. They had absolutely no idea how titan shifters functioned, Bertholdt knew that. Nothing of what had occurred during the last ten years had had a chance to seep through the wastelands of Wall Maria and reach them in their abandoned outpost. Ignorance didn’t save them, though. Painful howls and exclamations of horror grew louder around him as his blades hungrily bit into bellies and sunk into throats. He took a hard hit to the shoulder in return. His arm faltered, just for a moment, and neglected to block the club that rushed up to meet his side. Fire seemed to spread through his bones, following by a piercing sensation. His ribs broke and a cry of rage exploded from his throat. The savage sound was anything but human and animal alike. It filled the air around them and let the villagers freeze. It was far too loud, ringing in his ears. Then he realized it hadn’t been him who had roared like that.  
Before them towered the sharp-toothed visage of a feral titan. Steam and heat seemed to radiate from the long-armed body that squatted in front of them, quivering with the boundless energy that pulsed hot through the thick veins of the creature. Soulless black eyes peered down at the crowd as strings of saliva were wiped away by a big tongue. The long dark hair that covered the giant’s head hung in unruly tresses over its shoulders and seemed to vibrate with each heaving breath the titan took. Then it opened its gaping maw and roared again. Men cried out in fear, falling over one another to escape from the clutches of the monster. The warrior among them couldn’t help a relieved laugh, breath- and toneless as it took to the air.  
A large clawed hand came down upon the villagers, crawling and cowering as they were, and crushed them right then and there. The sound of breaking flesh and shattering bones turned the stomachs of the remaining few but they had no time to even retch before the warrior was on them like a hound on a hare. He didn’t enjoy killing, he liked to think. He had grown used to it, though, and it didn’t touch him anymore. There were no emotions attached to his actions at all, yes. Only that it was different this time. He was angry, had been angry all day. He felt restless and trapped in this dying district, surrounded by enemies. And now they had endangered his life with their vile little trap; setting a woman before him like fresh meat so they could clobber him while his back was turned. As though he was a mindless killer! --He lopped the head off the one closest to him and pierced the chest of the second. Warm blood splattered on him and found its way into his mouth. The salt and copper taste made him shudder and he spat out as he drew his sword out of the ribcage of his victim. When he looked up, ready to take on the next enemy he realized that there weren’t any left. Two men had thrown down their weapons when Ymir killed their friends, maybe even before that, and were now running for the woods. Hard on their heels came the devilish shape of his comrade’s titan. They never made it to the tree line. 

Flesh tore apart, melting off the emerging form of a young woman. She climbed out of the decaying carcass she had inhabited before and left it in the mud to rot and dissolve. Steam rose into the brightening morning air as a billowing pillar and cast a shadow on the three people beneath it. Bertholdt stared down at the crouching woman at his feet, a hard line twisting the once soft curve of his mouth into a picture of distaste. He was scowling as he usually was when he had to deal with people but the dark circles under his eyes just seemed to intensify the look on his face. The woman seemed well aware of the hostility the warrior was practically emitting in waves and Ymir was sure the display of violence beforehand hadn’t left her unaffected. However, she wasn’t sure why that human was even still alive. She was pretty, in a way. And young. Her face wasn’t quite round enough, her hair not long enough –No.   
A pretty face wouldn’t soften him anyway. She had expected Bertholdt to put an end to her as soon as his hands were unoccupied but he didn’t touch her. His sword were sheathed again and the handles in their holsters. Unless a particularly cruel streak was rearing its head in the taciturn man she doubted he would go and kill her with his bare hands.   
Ymir crept closer, curious to see what he would do. She doubted he had a reason to spare her life but he already had a few things to answer for. How in the hell had such a large group been able to get this close to their lair? She had a guess or two but figured there was no point in scolding the warrior for his carelessness. He was probably doing a fine job of it all by himself.   
“So what’s the deal here?” She asked, putting her fists against her hips. “Who is she?”   
Bertholdt was silent, as he usually was, so she took it upon herself to try and communicate with the terrified woman. “You got a name?”  
After an initial moment of shock, drawn out endlessly as it seemed, their unbidden guest managed a nod. That, however, was all there was to her answer. The titan shifter rolled her eyes. “Great, and what is it?”   
Every sharper than silky soft tone of voice seemed to startle the blonde into unresponsiveness once again so Ymir had to change her tactic of approach. She squatted down in front of her and tried again: “I know you’re scared. That’s alright. Just tell us your name. We’re not gonna eat you.”  
The next second the woman started sobbing and Bertholdt gave her a cold glance. Okay, humor apparently wasn’t appreciated.   
She sighed exaggeratedly and looked up at her tall companion. “She’s useless. Probably swallowed her tongue in that mess earlier. Just be done with her.” Ymir advised as she rose back to her feet. Finally it seemed like Bertholdt was seeing fit to speak to her. He opened his mouth but before he could bring out a sound he was interrupted by a quiet whimper and an even quieter, “Renate.”   
Both shifters turned to look at the cowering blonde, equally surprised by the sudden change of mind.   
“Renate? That’s your name?”   
A nod.  
Ymir gave Bertholdt a look, eyebrows arched, before she asked: “Why have you come here, Renate?”  
“They sent her as bait.” Came the gruff answer from above. Bertholdt seemed very sure of this and she saw no reason to doubt his judgment. Renate didn’t exactly have the look of a fighter. She lacked that fierce gaze that she knew –Stop it.  
She nodded once again, tears drying on her pale cheeks. She looked empty, the blue eyes of hers sunken deep into her sockets and framed by big shadows underneath.   
Now Ymir understood why Bertholdt refused to kill her. Hell forbids he ended up doing something they had wanted him to do. His defiance was as childish as it was consequent.   
“What will happen to me now?” Renate’s voice still hadn’t mustered up the courage to climb above a whisper but it felt as though she had read Ymir’s thoughts.   
“We’ll send you back.” She said without missing a beat. What else was there to do? Bertholdt wouldn’t harm her, if he had been planning on it he would have done it already. And she surely wasn’t going to do any more of his dirty work.   
“We might.” Bertholdt (somewhat) agreed. “We want to leave this place as badly as you want us to leave.” He continued quietly. “But we need help. If we spare you, can you convince them to assist us?”   
Both women stared at the warrior in their midst with a look of confusion. What did they need the villagers for? They could simply climb the Wall and be gone. And once they were in Wall Maria every human was nothing but dead weight, only useful as a distraction for the titans. What was he on about? Given, those were Ymir’s thoughts. She didn’t know what Renate had running through her head but she seemed equally puzzled.  
“But… The titans—“  
“The titans are out there.” Bertholdt cut her off dryly. “But there are already titans in here.” He reminded her. “However, we are the only titans you will ever see who want to get out. Let me rephrase… Are there any soldiers left in this district?”   
“…No.”  
The shifter’s expression darkened and the relaxed hand at his side twitched forward. Taken aback, Ymir understood that he had meant to strike her. Fuck, he was in a really bad mood. Killing for a reason was one thing but senseless violence had never been Bertholdt’s forte. He wasn’t a violent person. Or hadn’t been. She had no idea what he was now. She didn’t want to get too involved in that.   
“Try again.” He said, a bit too calmly. “Using people like meat, creeping up on us like that… That’s something the military does. Don’t lie to me.”  
She wondered when exactly he had put that together. He hadn’t even considered talking to her first. And she had been running around as a titan for at least half a day, everything added up. Ymir pressed her lips together, jaws clenched tightly and teeth grinding. Fuck that guy. She’d rip him a new one later, that was for sure.   
“We… There’s a veteran.” Renate broke quickly under the weight of Bertholdt’s gaze. “He’s old, he never did no harm, I swear. Please don’t hurt him. He hid because he got wounded. He can’t fight, please…!”  
“Which branch did he belong to?”  
“Uhm… I-I… The Scouting Legion?”  
Ymir spat out. “He might know a safe route.”   
“He might.” Bertholdt straightened up and ran a dirty hand through his hair. It was falling over his eyes by now. “Take us to him.”  
She looked down at the sobbing blond woman and felt her mind once again trying to breach the topic she was trying very hard to avoid. A resemblance was there, in the way her hair seemed almost golden in the morning light. The line of her jaw reminded of a younger face, the curve of her eyebrows… Ah, to hell with it.   
“She looks a bit like Historia.” The words were murmured before she could hold her tongue and as if to punish herself she bit down on it painfully.   
Bertholdt’s eyebrows rose a little. “Yes, I suppose.”  
“Let’s get going before she chokes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm not overly satisfied with this chapter but it will do. Sorry for the slow progress but I hope you enjoy the read anyway.


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